The Child of Their Hearts
by D. Mitch
Summary: Arthur Weasley took his duties as a father seriously, even when 'his' child wasn't necessarily his biological child. Eventual Weasleys adopt Harry! WIP! Contains SPANKING of a teenage CHILD. Don't like? Don't read!
1. Mr Weasley and the Runaway

Title: The Child of Their Hearts  
Author: Mitch  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Arthur Weasley/Harry Potter  
Warnings: Just the usual: there be spanking ahead!  
Disclaimer: It all belongs to the lovely J.K. Rowling. No copyright  
infringement of any kind is intended. I am merely playing with her  
characters. ;)

_Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, U.S. edition, page 30._

_"COME BACK IN HERE!" he Uncle Vernon bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!" _

_But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon._

_"She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."_

_He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door._

_"I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough."_

_And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, U.S. edition, page 30._

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was sitting in his office when the shrill wail of an alarm sounding pierced the silence. In a swift movement quite contrary to his advanced age, he leapt from his chair and strode to the other side of his office. One of his many unique contraptions was emitting the high-pitched beeping that had disturbed the peace of his office, and the wizened Headmaster paled considerably. Harry Potter was no longer at his relatives' home.

This fact had barely registered when his fire flared green and the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, came tumbling out of it.

"Albus, we've just received knowledge that an extraordinary amount of magic was performed at the residence of Harry Potter. Furthermore, the boy has run away!" The Minister seemed quite alarmed; his face was red and sweat was dotting his brow.

"Do you know what has happened, Cornelius?" Albus questioned. His clear blue eyes were not twinkling at all.

"We've had to send out the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Apparently, young Harry and his uncle's sister were involved in a verbal argument of some kind and Harry, well, for lack of a better term, blew up his aunt. Much like a balloon, actually."

"And you have no idea where Harry might have gone?"

The Minster shook his head, looking very grieved. "None, though I have a team of Aurors searching for evidence of his whereabouts."

"Very well, Cornelius. I will contact his friends to see if he might have, perhaps, gone to one of them."

The Minister nodded, and with a word of farewell, floo'd out.

Headmaster Dumbledore wasted no time. He grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the mantle and tossed it into the fire. "The Burrow!" he said firmly as the flames flared green, kneeling onto the floor and sticking his head into the fire.

Molly Weasley received quite a shock as she sat darning socks, reflecting on the fact that a mother's work was, indeed, never done, when her fireplace flared and the Headmaster of Hogwarts' face was suddenly staring at her.

"Headmaster Dumbledore!" she exclaimed in surprise, her hand flying to her heart.

"Molly," the Headmaster said briskly. "Has Harry been here?"

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, a puzzled expression coming to her face. "No, he hasn't. Is there something wrong, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore explained what had happened and Molly quickly promised him that she would immediately send word if Harry showed up at the Burrow, extracting a promise from the Headmaster that he would likewise inform them when the boy was found.

Her husband arrived home about fifteen minutes later, looking flustered. He immediately asked Molly if she'd heard anything from Harry.

"The Headmaster fire-called to ask the same thing. Oh, Arthur, I hope he's all right." Molly's face was troubled, her brows creased with worry.

"Me, too, Molly." Arthur hugged his wife, smoothing her hair. His expression darkened, "Though I certainly do hope, when he's found, that someone speaks to him about the _danger_ he's put himself in!"

Molly seemed taken aback by her husband's sudden shift in attitude. Normally, she was the stern one and Arthur was the one, if not directly then indirectly, encouraging the children's mischief. Of course, there had been times where his temper had rivaled even her own.

Seeing the look on his wife's face, Arthur continued, "Even without Sirius Black on the loose, Molly, running off like that… he's _thirteen_ years old. Anything could happen to him! Going off in a temper like that, it's no different than a toddler throwing a tantrum, I don't care what his provocation."

Shaking his head, Arthur withdrew from the embrace and headed off to find his children, directing them sternly to_ immediately_ inform him if Harry made any attempt to contact them. Around half an hour passed and Headmaster Dumbledore fire-called again to say that they'd discovered Harry had boarded the Knight Bus and was on course to Diagon Alley. The Minister was there waiting for him to arrive. Arthur donned his traveling cloak.

"Arthur, where are you…" Arthur interrupted his wife's question.

"I am going to the Leaky Cauldron to wait for Harry's imminent arrival. It is unlikely the Minister will have words with him, but someone certainly needs to." With those words, he apparated straight to the Leaky Cauldron and met with the Minister and Tom, the innkeeper. Tom told him that they'd be putting Harry up in room eleven, and was kind enough to unlock the door so Mr. Weasley could wait for him in the room.

When the Knight Bus dropped Harry off at the Leaky Cauldron's front entrance, the teenager was surprised and confused to see the actual Minister of Magic there to greet him. The Minister mildly scolded him about running off, and then told him that they'd taken care of Aunt Marge. _Pity, that_, he thought. Fudge then told him that he'd be spending the rest of his holidays at the Leaky Cauldron and that he was free to wander around Diagon Alley so long as he was in by dark each night and didn't go off into Muggle London.

_Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, U.S. edition, page 47._

_And with a last smile and shake of Harry's hand, Fudge left the room. Tom now moved forward, beaming at Harry._

_"If you'll follow me, Mr. Potter," he said, "I've already taken your things up…."_

_Harry followed Tom up a handsome wooden staircase to a door with a brass number eleven on it, which Tom unlocked and opened for him._

_Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, U.S. edition, page 47._

Harry looked around the room, curiously eyeing the polished oak furniture, the already-burning fire. He noticed that Hedwig was perched on the top of the wardrobe, and there, sitting on what looked to be quite a comfortable bed, was none other than Ron's dad, Arthur Weasley.

"Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked, quite puzzled as he walked into the room and shut the door behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Mr. Weasley ignored the question and stood, walking over to Harry. He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and peered at him intensely, checking to make sure the boy was indeed in one piece.

"I am very glad to see you are all right, Harry," he said. His normally kind eyes darkened, and he fixed Harry with a very stern look. "Now, would you care to explain why you ran away, young man?"

Harry, for his part, was rather startled to hear such a severe tone coming from the normally jovial Mr. Weasley. Even when Ron and the twins had flown their dad's enchanted Ford Anglia to rescue him from the Dursley's last summer, Mr. Weasley hadn't seemed angry at all. Harry had rather thought he was amused, actually, the way he'd asked the boys how it had flown and all. He stared at his best friend's dad, not quite comprehending just what, exactly, was going on.

"I… what?" he spluttered.

Mr. Weasley reclaimed his seat on the bed. "I would like to know what, precisely, you thought you were doing when you left your aunt and uncle's home this evening," he repeated in an even tone. Mr. Weasley waited several moments. When it became clear that Harry wasn't going to respond, he said firmly, "That was not a request, Harry."

Harry shifted where he stood, crossing his arms and uncrossing them nervously, under Mr. Weasley's stern glare. "I couldn't stay there! You don't know what it's like there, Mr. Weasley! And you don't know what she was saying to me… about my mum and dad!" Harry burst out, becoming angry as he recalled the hateful things his uncle's sister had said to him. "She deserved what she got, and it's about time! She's had it coming to her, and I only wish I'd've stayed to watch her bounce against the ceiling, the evil cow!" By the time Harry finished, his face was flushed dark red and he was breath was coming in sharp gasps.

"Are you quite finished?" Mr. Weasley asked calmly. While Harry had been ranting and raving, Mr. Weasley had calmed himself down a bit and was feeling much better. Harry gave a jerky nod of his head. "Come talk to me, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, gesturing the empty spot of bed next to him. Harry, eyeing the man warily and trying to calm himself down, crossed the room and sat next to the man, who shifted so that he was facing the boy.

"Harry, I know your situation is not ideal," he cast Harry a firm Look when the boy gave an incredulous snort, "but you running off like you did is absolutely unacceptable!" Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Mr. Weasley cut him off, "No, Harry. I don't care what your provocation – you had _no_ right to leave that house. You placed yourself in immense danger, Harry! I don't even want to think about what could have happened to you had the Knight Bus not picked you up."

Harry's anger had all but dissipated. Mr. Weasley's voice was filled with concern, anger, and disappointment – but his words… No one had ever cared before if Harry got in trouble. And Mr. Weasley was angry with him, but it was, apparently, more because of the fact that he'd endangered himself. But it was weird, being lectured by his best friend's dad!

"I didn't think about that, Mr. Weasley. I just – I _couldn't_ stay there…" he said softly, picking at them hem of his oversized T-shirt.

"I know you're not going to like hearing this, but you are only thirteen, still a child. You don't have much of a choice." Mr. Weasley paused for a moment, giving a sigh. "Harry, you are my son's best friend. Mrs. Weasley and I consider you one of our own." He paused again. "If one of our children had done what you did this evening, running off in a temper like you did, he or she would be sleeping on their stomach tonight." He fixed the teen with a pointed look.

Harry's eyes widened. What was he saying? Surely he didn't mean… _I guess it's a good thing I'm not a Weasley_, Harry thought wryly.

"I know I'm not your father, Harry, but I feel that someone needs to impress upon you the seriousness of your actions. Today's event, the trouble you've rushed headlong into in the past two years you've been at Hogwarts… you have _got to stop_ putting yourself into danger, Harry! There are people who care about you too much to see you hurt! And if none of them are willing to correct you when you make mistakes, to discipline you when it is necessary, then I will."

Harry realized then that Mr. Weasley actually meant to treat him like… well, a Weasley… and actually spank him. He stood and backed away a few feet, shaking his head, slightly panicked.

"Mr. Weasley, I get it, really… I won't…"

Mr. Weasley cut him off, shaking his head softly. "No, Harry. I'm sorry, but I will not be like other adults in your life and let you down. If you won't keep yourself safe, I'll have to ensure that the consequences you face when you place yourself in danger will be enough to remind you in future of just how valuable you are." He contemplated the desk in the corner, and the chair in front of it, but decided to remain where he was, seated on the bed. Though Harry had backed away, he was still within reach, and Mr. Weasley extended his arm and grabbed the boy lightly by the wrist, pulling him closer, though the boy tried to resist him. The father of seven, having had, if not as much experience as his wife in this area, plenty experience enough, easily drew the protesting teenager across his lap and shifted him into a proper position. He easily cast a charm that had Harry's trousers and pants around his knees, and the boy groaned in embarrassment. He'd been smacked before, by Uncle Vernon when he was a young child, and he recalled it as being a very unpleasant experience.

"Mr. Weasley, please – you don't have to do this…" Harry pleaded in a last ditch effort to change the man's mind.

"Yes, Harry; I do." Mr. Weasley replied, his voice holding an almost sad tone. He lifted his hand and brought it down firmly on the quivering, unprotected bottom before him. Harry yelped in surprise, and Mr. Weasley brought his hand down again, quickly peppering Harry's vulnerable bottom with harsh, stinging wallops.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Harry squirmed, the sting rapidly building as more swats rained down on his backside. His face, he knew, was bright red from shame and embarrassment. To his horror, he could feel tears beginning to sting his eyes. Mr. Weasley landed a particularly harsh swat and Harry cried out.

"Owww! Mr. Weasley,.. Please!" He begged, trying to wriggle his way off of the man's lap. Mr. Weasley, ignoring the pleading words, only wrapped his left arm about Harry's waist and held him fast.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! "Why are you receiving this spanking, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked. The spanking was about halfway over; Harry's bottom was blushing a dark pink and the boy was fighting back tears. His legs were kicking, and he was crying out with each smack now.

_Is he mad?_ Harry thought wildly as he heard the question. _How the hell can he expect me to ans--_ "OWW!" Two sharp wallops to his thighs convinced him that Mr. Weasley did indeed expect an answer. "Be -Ouch! - Because I r-ran away. Owww, please s-sto-op!" Harry's voice broke on the last word, tears streaming from his eyes and staining his cheeks.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! _"_That's right. And why is that unacceptable?"

"D-d-dang--OUChhh! dangerous! I -OOWW! p-put myself in d-danger! OUCHhhh!!" Harry was sobbing at this point, tears flowing freely from his eyes. He became limp across Mr. Weasley's lap, sure the spanking would never end. His bottom was absolutely on fire; he'd never sit again, surely.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Mr. Weasley dropped his left leg and lifted his right, targeting his last set of smacks to Harry's tender undercurve and thighs, thereby ensuring the boy would have trouble sitting for a while. Harry wailed loudly with each swat, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

After delivering the last scorching swat, Mr. Weasley used his wand to right the boy's clothing and shifted him so he was sitting in his lap. He held Harry in a comforting embrace, alternately patting the child's back and running his fingers through the messy black hair.

"Shh, shh," he murmured as Harry fought to get his sobs under control. "It's okay now, Harry. All's forgiven." He continued to murmur softly to the teen until Harry's tears quieted. "I'm sorry that was necessary, son," he said in a gentle tone of voice, much more like his normal self than the stern paternal side he'd shown earlier. "One thing you should know about the Weasley family, Harry: once a transgression has been dealt with, the slate is wiped clean and all is forgiven; it won't be mentioned again."

Harry stared up at Mr. Weasley through wet eyelashes, his face red and tear-stained, mind locking on one word: _son._ No one had ever called him 'son' before. He felt his eyes filling with tears again and he clung tighter to Mr. Weasley, unable to say anything to the man. His heart was filled with a strange, new emotion. He thought he should be angry at the man for punishing him so harshly, but all he could focus on was the fact that no one else, no other adult in his life, had expressed such caring and concern for him before. Mr. Weasley, for his part, only held the boy closer, rubbing the boy's back until he pulled away.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Weasley," Harry finally said, in a voice still thick with tears.

Mr. Weasley smiled, "I know you are, Harry, and I'm sure you'll think twice in future before allowing your temper to get the better of you, or rushing headlong into a dangerous situation."

Harry nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir!" he exclaimed.

The man smiled kindly, chuckling softly as the boy emitted a loud yawn. "Before I take my leave and allow you to get some rest, I want you to promise me that you'll be in by dark each night, and that you'll stick to Diagon Alley. No wandering into Muggle London, or anywhere else, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, yawning again. "I'll stay in Diagon Alley, and I promise I won't go out after dark."

"Good boy." Mr. Weasley allowed Harry to stand, following suit. He pulled the blankets back from the bed, turning his back to allow Harry to change into his pajamas. The teenager crawled into the bed and Mr. Weasley pulled the blankets around him, feeling a rush of paternal affection for this boy who was his youngest son's best friend and who had stolen his wife's heart. He gave Harry's back another pat. "We'll see you the last week of holidays, but if you need anything at all, just floo us at The Burrow."

His only reply was a sleepy grunt of acknowledgement. With a last, affectionate glance at the sleeping teenager, Mr. Weasley exited the room, making sure the lock clicked behind him. Mrs. Weasley was waiting for him when he apparated home.

"Molly, our family has grown once again," he said softly as he hugged his wife, lips lifted in a smile.


	2. Mr Weasley and the Invisible Runner

A/N: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Usual warnings apply.

Arthur Weasley walked out of Dervish and Banges of Hogsmeade, waving a cheery thanks to the shop-owner. He'd taken advantage of his weekend off to bring the Weasley family clock to magical item repair shop. He and his wife Molly had decided, after the incident in the summer when Arthur had had his discussion with Harry Potter after the boy ran away from his relatives' home, to add Harry to the family clock. Harry may not be an official Weasley in that he didn't have the Weasley name or the trade-mark red hair, but Arthur and Molly considered the boy one of their own. It was to be a surprise of sorts for Harry the next time the boy came to the Burrow, but it took a great deal of time and effort to add a person to the clock, so Arthur had decided to drop the clock off at Dervish and Banges with specific instructions of what he wanted to ensure that the additions would be complete by summer. Not to mention the heirloom was a bit worse for wear and some of the enchantments on it needed renewing.

He set off down the road, planning on stopping by Gladrags Wizardwear to pick up a Christmas gift for his wife. Quite suddenly, an invisible force crashed into him, knocking him backwards onto the hard cobblestone road. The force of the fall, and the unknown weight that fell on top of him, knocked the breath out of him. He shook his head, dazed and more than a little confused.

He heard a yelp of surprise over his own grunt of pain. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as the invisible weight slowly lifted off of him. He remembered his son Ronald telling him that Harry had inherited an invisibility cloak that had once belonged to his father, James.

"Harry Potter," Arthur said sternly in a quiet tone, "if it is you that just bowled me over, I suggest you stay put." Arthur knew that Harry was not allowed in Hogsmeade as the boy's permission slip had not been signed, and he hoped for Harry's sake that he was talking to himself.

The squeak of shock that he heard confirmed Harry's presence, even if the boy did not speak. Arthur nodded and carefully pulled himself to his feet, careful not to slip on the snow-covered road. He dusted snow off his robes, regaining his bearings.

"Are you still there, Harry?" he said out of the corner of his mouth, and heard a whispered reply. "Good. I want you to grasp onto the arm of my robe and follow me closely. I am taking you back to the castle, young man." Arthur fairly radiated anger and he heard a soft whimper from Harry as the invisible boy grabbed onto a corner hem of Arthur's robe. The wizard set a brisk pace, heading towards the path that would take him and Harry back to Hogwarts.

Arthur waited until he and Harry were in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts before demanding that the boy remove the invisibility cloak.

Harry did so, a growing sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he stared up into dark brown eyes narrowed with anger and disappointment.

"Mr. Weasley, I … I can explain, really…" Harry stuttered, knowing that he really couldn't explain anything other than he'd quite clearly broken a rather serious rule.

"I don't want to hear it right now, Harry," Arthur said firmly. "You and I are going to see Professor Dumbledore. Go on," he fairly ordered, urging the boy up the stairs.

He and Harry quickly made their way through the corridors of Hogwarts until they reached the seventh floor and were standing outside the massive stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's office.

"I do not know the password," Arthur spoke to the gargoyle. "I am Arthur Weasley, here to speak to Professor Dumbledore about an urgent matter regarding Harry Potter."

Harry stared at Arthur as if he were mad. Honestly, talking to a stone statue? However, after a few moments' wait, the gargoyle leapt to the side and the wall split in two to reveal the spiraling stone staircase that led to Professor Dumbledore's office.

"After you, Harry," Arthur said, directing the thirteen-year-old up the stairs ahead of him. As soon as both he and Harry were standing on the staircase, it began to move slowly upward before coming to a stop and depositing its riders before a large oak door complete with an ornate, brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Arthur knocked once and the door swung open to allow them entrance.

Harry and Arthur entered the office and approached Dumbledore's desk. The aged wizard sat behind said desk, half-moon spectacles resting rather precariously on his rather hooked nose. He smiled at his visitors, light blue eyes twinkling.

"Mr. Weasley, Harry," he said cheerfully, "to what do I owe this surprise visit?"

"Headmaster," Arthur began, "I happened to be in Hogsmeade when I ran into, quite literally I might add, Harry here just outside of the Three Broomsticks." Arthur paused to cast a disapproving glance at Harry. "He was underneath his invisibility cloak, however... I was under the impression that Harry was not allowed to be anywhere near Hogsmeade, Headmaster. I thought you should be aware of the situation, but I would like to ask that you let me deal personally with this display of outright disobedience and disregard for the rules."

Professor Dumbledore surveyed the two over his spectacles, appearing to be deep in thought. He inclined his head.  
"Very well, Arthur. It appears you have the situation well in hand." Dumbledore shifted his gaze to Harry and then back to Arthur. "Harry will receive a warning, but I see no problem leaving the rest to you." He said, eyes twinkling.

Harry gaped, rooted to his spot, and stared at the Headmaster in disbelief. He was going to what? Harry chanced a glance at Arthur. The man appeared no less angry than he had when he'd first caught Harry, and Dumbledore was going to leave Harry to him? Oh, he was, without a doubt, dead where he stood. _I'll leave my Nimbus to Ron... and all my books to Hermione, _the boy thought wildly, _because I. am. Dead._

Dumbledore stood and walked around his desk. "I believe I'll head to the kitchens for a snack. Knowing the house-elves, I should be quite some time." Dumbledore lightly patted Harry's shoulder as he walked past him and out of the office, closing the door firmly behind him.

Arthur turned to Harry, quite intent on furiously scolding the thirteen-year-old, but upon catching the fear in Harry's dark green eyes, he felt his anger soften. He put an arm about Harry's shoulders, leading the boy to the plush crimson couch off to the side. He took a seat and pulled Harry to sit down next to him.

"All right, Harry," he said gently, mindful to keep any residual anger out of his voice so he wouldn't frighten the child further. "I think you and I should talk."

"T-talk?" Harry stuttered, confused by the sudden atmosphere shift.

"Yes, talk." Arthur repeated. "You know you're not allowed in Hogsmeade, Harry, so why were you there today?"

Harry squirmed where he sat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "It's just... it's not fair!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Everyone else gets to go, and just because I've got stupid muggle relatives that didn't sign the dumb form, I'm stuck here by myself!"

"Harry, I know that it doesn't seem fair when your friends are out there having fun, while you have to remain in the castle. But it is not entirely because your relatives didn't sign your form. With Sirius Black at large, you might have been restricted to the castle anyway for your safety. I know that it is not fair, but sometimes life is just unfair, and we have to cope with it." Arthur said gently.

'Sirius Black' seemed to be a magical trigger. Harry stiffened, suddenly remembering what he'd heard prior to him bolting from The Three Broomsticks and running head-on into Arthur Weasley. He clenched his fist as a wave of anger crashed over him. "Sirius Black," he repeated venemously, not hearing the rest of Arthur's words. "That.. that traitorous.. Why didn't anyone ever tell me?" Harry demanded, jumping up from his seat on the couch and pacing in an angry circle. "Why didn't anyone ever mention that my parents were _killed_ because _their best friend_ sold them out to Voldemort?!"

Arthur let out a sigh. "That information was not kept from you to hurt you, Harry. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Harry whipped around to glare at Arthur, quite forgetting that this was the same man who he was rather scared of facing not ten minutes ago. "It's _my_ life! My parents! I should know what really happened! Everyone else does! Even _Malfoy_ knew!" Harry fumed, his voice rising.

"You're right." Arthur replied simply. He spoke much quieter than Harry had. Arthur knew that, even though he was a child, Harry did not see himself that way and he obviously took deep personal insult at having things about his own life hidden from him. "We should have told you. It was a mistake not to, and for that I am sorry, Harry."

"Yeah, well, you -- wait, what?" Harry started to shout something else, but was taken aback by Arthur abruptly apologizing. He stopped his pacing, standing before Arthur with a confused look on his face. It was so out of character for the adults in his life to admit they were wrong, much less apologize to him, that it seriously gave him pause. He deflated, temper fading as quickly as it had risen; after all, it wasn't nearly as satisfying to rant and rave at someone who was just going to sit back and listen.

"Someone should have told you what really happened." Arthur repeated. "However..." he paused, pleased that he had gotten Harry's attention and determined to direct the boy's attention back to the matter at hand. "That does not excuse you disobeying the rules and sneaking out to go to Hogsmead. Nor does it excuse you shouting at me and taking a tone of such attitude and disrespect with. I will let that slide this one time, young man, but not again," the red-headed wizard said sternly.

Harry sighed, hanging his head. "I'm sorry," he said softly, scuffing the toe of his trainers along the plush carpeting of Dumbledore's office.

"You have to _think_ before you act, Harry! Quite aside from the fact that there is an escaped convict on the loose, one who has a personal interest in _you_, I might add, consider this. What might have happened if you'd somehow gotten injured or taken ill in Hogsmeade and passed out while still under your invisibility cloak?" Arthur pointed out a possibility, though perhaps a slim one, that Harry likely had not considered. "No one would have known where you were. I understand the unfairness of your situation, Harry, but you have got to trust the adults in your life - your professors, Mrs. Weasley and I - to help keep you safe. The restrictions we place on you are not meant to make you miserable, however much it may seem so to you right now. You are quite old enough to know right from wrong, Harry Potter, and sneaking out of this castle to go to Hogsmeade against the rules was _wrong_," Arthur lectured the boy.

Harry flushed bright red, squirming where he stood. Mr. Weasley had a way of making him feel all of about an inch tall; Harry hated the guilty feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach but he knew Mr. Weasley was right.

"I know, Mr. Weasley," he said in barely a whisper. "I'm really sorry."

The pitiful look on the thirteen-year-old's face tugged Arthur's heartstrings. He wanted nothing more than to pull his son's best friend into a crushing hug, but he knew that wasn't what Harry needed from him right now. "After our discussion in August, I had hoped I wouldn't have to punish you again, Harry," Arthur said in a more gentle tone, "but this is not something that I can let slide. I'm going to have to spank you."

Harry froze, stomach churning from shame and nerves. He'd just known, as soon as he saw the look on Mr. Weasley's face when the adult wizard had realized who'd run into him, that he would be in for it. Harry's mind flashed back to the last week of summer hols. Ron and his family had come to Diagon Alley and Harry'd had the chance to talk to Ron. He remembered the embarrassment he'd felt as he told Ron that Mr. Weasley had been waiting for him when he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron after running away from the Dursleys. He'd turned bright red upon finally admitting to his best friend that his dad had spanked him. Ron's ears had turned red and he said that he'd kind of figured something like that must have happened when his mum said his dad had gone into London to see Harry. Ron told Harry that the Weasley parents were rigidly strict when it came to their kids not putting themselves in any danger and, well, Arthur and Molly Weasley definitely considered Harry one of their own. Ron said that's what it meant to be a Weasley, even if not one by blood: unwavering love and support, and definite consequences when you mucked things up. So, Harry might have been filled with nerves and a bit scared about the spanking he knew he had coming, but he wasn't surprised at all to hear Mr. Weasley tell him that he was going to be spanked. No, what surprised Harry was Mr. Weasley plucking a ragged looking quill out of his pocket and using his wand to Transfigure it into a wicked looking hairbrush.

"Mr. Weasley, please," Harry begged the man he was beginning to think of as the father he never had. "I'll never sneak out of the castle again, I swear. I'll be the model of perfect behavior. Please don't sp-punish me."

Arthur sat the hairbrush on the arm of the couch. "I have no doubt that you'll think twice before breaking the rules again, but that doesn't change the fact that you're going to be spanked for using your invisibility cloak to sneak out of this castle and visit Hogsmeade when you knew that you were not allowed." he told the boy in a stern, matter-of-fact tone. "I'm going to spank you, followed by thirteen swats from the brush. After your punishment, you'll be forgiven and the incident will be forgotten."

Yes, Harry remembered that about the last time the man sitting in front of him had spanked him. Mr. Weasley had held him on his lap while he cried, speaking softly to him until he'd calmed down, and then he had told him that the slate was wiped clean and he was forgiven. No one had ever held him like that that he could remember. Mr. Weasley's voice telling him to lower his trousers startled Harry from his memories.

"Now, please," Arthur ordered softly as Harry just stared at him, pleading look in his eyes as he shook his head. It might have been easier to just put the boy over his lap and then use a spell to bare Harry's bottom, but Arthur wanted him to receive the full effect of the punishment, part of which included the embarrassment that went along with having to submit to the spanking he was about to receive.

Harry's fingers trembled as he unbuttoned his jeans and undid the fly. He looked up, tears pricking his emerald green eyes, silently pleading with Mr. Weasley, but the wizard just Looked at him expectantly. Biting his lip, Harry hooked his fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pushed them slowly to his knees, his cheeks flushing darkly with embarrassment.

"Pants, too, Harry," Arthur said.

Harry scrunched his eyes shut tightly, drawing in a wavering breath. Wishing for all the world that he'd just followed his original plan of reading up on the different makes of brooms in Oliver Wood's copy of Which Broomstick, Harry pushed his shorts down to join his jeans, thankful for the large t-shirt he wore that was just long enough to preserve his modesty.

Arthur reached out and drew the teenager over his lap, shifting him so that Harry's upper body was supported on the couch and his bottom was in prime position over Arthur's knees, his legs hanging out behind him. Lifting Harry's t-shirt out of the way, Arthur steeled himself and lifted his hand, bringing it down hard on the bare bottom before him, following the initial wallop with a rapid volley of hard swats that quickly turned Harry's pale bottom a light pink.

Harry cried out at the first swat. He buried his head in his arms as Arthur continued spanking him. Arthur swatted the same spot twice, leaving just enough time between smacks to allow the sting to register before moving on. Harry's bottom went from pasty white to light pink to a darker pink that radiated heat. Harry squirmed on Arthur's lap, fighting back tears. He jerked with each swat, legs kicking out as he tried in vain to get away from the punishing swats that fell unrelentingly on his upturned posterior, but Arthur wrapped his arm around Harry's waist, pulling him closer and holding him fast so that he could not get away.

As a particularly harsh wallop landed on an already sore spot, a sob caught in Harry's chest and he finally gave into the tears he'd been trying to hold back. His poor bum felt like he'd sat on hot coals and he was quite convinced the spanking would never end. Arthur paused, reaching for the Transfigured hairbrush on the arm of the couch.

"I'm going to use the brush now, Harry," he informed the sobbing teenager, resting the back of the hairbrush on Harry's bottom to let him know of the change in implement.

"N-noo, pl-please, Mr. We-weasley, don't!" Harry protested through his tears, startled by the feeling of the cold wood on his burning backside. "N-not with th-that!"

Arthur ignored Harry's words and lifted the brush. He brought it down with a resounding CRACK! and Harry shrieked. The brush hurt so much worse than just Arthur's hand!

"You -CRACK!- do -CRACK! not -CRACK!- sneak -CRACK!- out -CRACK!- of -CRACK!- school," Arthur lectured as he continued bringing the hairbrush down, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the brush as it impacted with Harry's rear.

"OWWW!" Harry yelled, tears coursing down his cheeks and leaving large wet patches on the fabric of the couch. "I w-wont! AOOUUCH! I pr-pr-pro-OWWW!-miss!" He lay limply across Arthur's lap, sobbing for all he was worth.

Arthur lifted his leg and landed the last six swats to the undercurve of Harry's bottom, three on each side, before tossing the brush away and scooping Harry up into his arms. Taking care to keep weight off of Harry's bottom, Arthur held the sobbing teenager in a tight embrace, gently rubbing his back and speaking softly to him. He found himself rocking back and forth as Harry struggled to calm himself down.

Harry held tightly to Mr. Weasley, burying his head in the man's shoulders and crying heavily into his robes. Surely, he'd never sit again! His bottom burned fiercely; the brush had left his bottom throbbing with a much deeper pain than just Mr. Weasley's hand caused. He slowly got control of his tears, his breathing returning to normal, thanks to Mr. Weasley's soft words and gentle rubbing and rocking. He pulled away from Mr. Weasley's embrace as his tears subsided, ducking his head in embarrassment. His face was red, tear-tracks obvious on his cheeks. The only reason his glasses weren't tear-streaked was thanks to the Impervius charm Hermione had cast on them at the last Quidditch match. He sniffled, lifting a hand and wiping his cheeks and his eyes underneath his glasses.

"Mr. Weasley, I'm sorry," he said softly. "Really, really sorry."

"I know you are, son," Arthur replied, casting a charm that replaced Harry's clothing to its original state and allowing the boy to stand up once more. "What did I tell you before?"

Harry looked up to meet Arthur's eyes, remembering the man's words before the spanking. "That'd it'd be forgiven and forgotten." Harry still found that hard to believe; nothing was ever been forgiven at the Dursleys, much less forgotten. His aunt and uncle always brought up his past mistakes, throwing them in his face every time he did something that _they_ thought was wrong. But Harry could see in Arthur's eyes that this man would never do that to him. When he said 'forgiven and forgotten,' he meant it, truly meant it, and Harry could do nothing but believe it was true.

"That's right." Arthur agreed. "As far as I'm concerned, this is over with. But Harry, I will warn you now," Arthur's voice suddenly took on a stern tone, "if I hear that you've sneaked out of this castle again, I will personally come to this school and paddle your backside with Mrs. Weasley's hairbrush. Do you understand me?"

Harry was quick to nod, hand snaking back to rub at his throbbing bottom. "Yes, sir," he said quickly. "I won't sneak out _ever _again, I promise."

"Good boy." Arthur smiled at Harry, reaching out to ruffle the boy's already messy hair. He frowned in thought. "Harry... Before the start of term, you made me a promise that you would not seek out Sirius Black, do you remember that?" When Harry nodded, Arthur continued, his tone serious, "It is even more important that you keep that promise to me, Harry, now that you know just what the man is guilty of. It is not right that he escaped Azkaban, and I know that you very likely want revenge against the man who is responsible for your parents' deaths, but letting yourself fall into Sirius Black's clutches...putting yourself in mortal danger...would be a poor way to repay your parents for their sacrifice for you. It does us no good to focus on revenge and getting back at Sirius Black will never bring them back, Harry. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Emerald green eyes met wizened brown. How could he not want to get back at the man who sold his parents out? If it weren't for Sirius Black, Harry would've known his mum and dad. He never would've been sent to live with his horrible relatives. He could've had a normal life! But looking into Mr. Weasley's eyes, Harry realized the older wizard was right. He couldn't change what had happened, and maybe his mum and dad wouldn't have wanted him to become consumed with the desire for revenge; surely they'd've wanted better for their son than that.

Slowly, Harry nodded. "Yes, sir; I understand. And I won't go looking for him, I promise."

"I'm very glad to hear that, son," Arthur smiled. "Now I've got a wife to get home to, and I'm sure your friends will be back soon, so why don't you head off to your common room to wait for them, hm? You need anything at all, I expect you to owl Mrs. Weasley or myself, understood?"

Harry nodded, casting Arthur a smile of his own before leaving Professor Dumbledore's office. He walked slowly through the halls of Hogwarts, following the winding corridors and trick staircases until he arrived at the entrance to Gryffindor's common room. He gave the password to the Fat Lady and, finding the common room still empty, walked up the stairs to his dorm. He collapsed onto his four-poster bed on his stomach, reaching back to rub his bottom. Without quite meaning to, Harry fell asleep, the sting in his bottom serving as a reminder of two things. One, that he really, really shouldn't break the rules, and two, that there were people who loved him enough to correct him when he strayed from the right path.


	3. Mr Weasley and the Headmaster

A/N: I realize this story has not been updated in.. well.. over a year. I found this floating around in one of my saved documents folders and it was in full completion, so I figured I would go ahead and upload it. I have not forgotten about this story, but the muse for it seems to have taken an extended holiday. I have received and treasured each review that has been submitted, and I hope you all appreciate this chapter. I will work on writing at least one more, to see the story to its completion, but I make no promises. Thanks for reading. ~D. Mitch

Arthur Weasley had had to pull quite a few strings to borrow a Ministry car for the day to travel to Surrey to pick up one Harry Potter. In a few days' time, Arthur was talking his family to the Quidditch World Cup, along with his youngest son's best friends Hermione Granger and Harry. Hermione's parents had no problems allowing the Ministry to connect their fireplace to the Floo Network for an hour or two, but Harry's relatives, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, hated all things magic and had stoutly refused allowing their home to be associated with anything magic, even for the shortest possible time, as Arthur had found out when he'd used the telephone number Harry had given to Ron in their very first year at Hogwarts and called to request their permission to pick Harry up for the rest of the summer.

He was taken aback by how uniform and perfect all of the houses along Privet Drive appeared to be as he drove along the road in search of Number 4. The house barely looked any different from those around it, though the first thing to catch Arthur's attention was the beautifully kept garden along the house's front. He pulled into the driveway and headed up along the path to the front door, ringing the bell once he was on the stoop. A very rotund boy of thirteen with a dark pink face and blonde hair plastered to the top of his head answered the door.

"Who're you?" he said rudely.

Arthur was caught off-guard by the child's rudeness. "I'm here to pick up your cousin Harry," he told the boy, rightly assuming the child was Harry's cousin Dudley. "Are your parents here?" Considering he had pulled in behind Vernon's car, Arthur had to assume at least one of them was.

"MUM! DAD! Someone's here to get the freak!" the boy shouted, lumbering away from the door, leaving it wide open and Arthur still standing on the stoop.

A thin, horse-faced woman came bustling to the door. "Excuse my son, Mister..?"

"Weasley," Arthur said. "Arthur Weasley. You must be Mrs. Dursley, Harry's aunt? I believe I spoke with you last week about taking Harry for the rest of the summer?"

"Yes, of course," Petunia simpered, giving a rather forced smile. "Please, come in, Mr. Weasley. My husband is upstairs now making sure Harry is ready to go."

Arthur entered, glancing around the foyer and living room he was led into, thinking there was something off about the situation. Something about Petunia's tone of voice and the darting glances she kept sending up the stairs bothered him.

"May I offer you a cup of tea?" Petunia asked, gesturing a tea tray on the table in the living room.

"No, thank you," Arthur declined; he wasn't here to exchange pleasantries with the Dursley family - he was here to pick up Harry. "Is Harry nearly ready? I know my wife and children are very eager to see him, and we've a long drive back home."

At that moment, Vernon Dursley came stomping down the stairs. His fat face was a bright red, his mustache twitching above his lip, and the exertion of walking downstairs, apparently, had the very fat man breathing heavily. "The boy'll be down presently," Vernon said gruffly. Petunia rushed to his side and they shared a hushed conversation while Arthur looked on.

Arthur frowned. "Which room is his? Does he needs help finishing his packing? I'd like to see his room." Something was definitely not right about this situation, and Arthur didn't like it one bit.

"No!" Petunia blurted, face flushing as she turned to face the wizard. "I mean - no, that's all right. I'll just be a minute."

Arthur stood; now he knew something wasn't right. "I would like to see Harry's room myself, thank you, Mrs. Dursley," he said coldly. He pulled his wand and cast a quick point-me charm. Arthur pushed past Petunia and Vernon and followed the direction of his wand, up the stairs and to a room whose door was locked shut - from the outside. He consulted his wand; it was pointing directly at the padlocked door. Surely they didn't keep Harry _locked in his room_!? It was at that moment that the red-haired wizard caught sight of the cat flap at the bottom of the door. His temper rising, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, glad to see the door wasn't locked at the moment although he had a very bad feeling that it was often kept locked.

The room behind the door was a mess. Broken toys and other items littered the floor; the desk in the corner of the room was falling apart. But what concerned Arthur the most was the threadbare mattress on a rickety metal frame in the far corner of the room. That, and the scrawny, black-haired, green-eyed boy currently digging around underneath said bed.

"Harry?" Arthur said gently, not wanting to startle the child unnecessarily.

Hearing Mr. Weasley's voice, Harry's head jerked upwards, banging against the metal underside of the bed. "OW! Shite, that hurt," the boy cursed, carefully and slowly crawling backwards out from under the bed, one hand coming to the back of his head and gingerly rubbing the spot he'd just banged. "Mr. Weasley, er.. hi." Harry said uncomfortably. In his free hand, he held his Invisibility Cloak, wand, and photo album, his more precious items that he'd hidden underneath the loose floorboard under the bed. When Uncle Vernon had come up moments before, he'd told Harry to gather all of his things because he was leaving. Of course, he hadn't been nearly as nice about it; Uncle Vernon had snatched him from the bed by one arm, landing a terrific wallop to his backside (which was already rather sore from the belting he'd given Harry only a couple of days previous for mouthing off to his aunt), and ordered him to gather his "freakish belongings" because "another freak" was here to get him.

"Hello, Harry," Arthur said calmly, betraying none of the anger he was feeling. What sort of room was this? All the locks, and he hadn't missed the catflap at the bottom of the door. "Are you nearly ready? Packed your trunk?"

Harry suddenly averted his gaze. He hadn't been allowed to pack anything. The few items he'd managed to take from his trunk were cluttered on the broken desk. "Um.. er - not really," he muttered.

Arthur frowned. "You haven't packed?" Granted, he didn't see too many of the boy's belongings in the room, but surely Harry would have packed as soon as he heard Arthur was coming to get him. "Where's your trunk?" he asked, becoming suspicious.

"I... it's.." Harry floundered for something to say; anything that would keep Mr. Weasley from asking any questions. "I can get it; let's go downstairs. Did you see my garden outside? Well, it's really Aunt Petunia's garden, but I work in it a lot, pulling weeds, pruning the bushes,..." He headed for the desk, but Arthur waved his own wand and swiftly shrunk the items before pocketing them. "Aunt Petunia wanted some new flowers planted, but I haven't gotten the chance yet," Harry continued to babble randomly, hoping to distract the older wizard.

"Harry, where is your trunk?" Arthur asked again, a hard edge to his voice. The boy was clearly trying to divert his attention, but it was not going to work.

Harry averted his gaze again, face flushing. He'd never wanted anyone to see just how awful the Dursleys were, and now it was too late! "The cupboard under the stairs," he muttered, knowing he wouldn't be able to get away with not answering. "But I can get it! Really.. you don't need to trouble yourself."

It was too late; Arthur was already halfway down the stairs. He found the cupboard and unlocked it with his wand, stooping to step into the tiny space. He Shrunk Harry's trunk and put it in his pocket. Arthur was about to leave when a faded drawing on the cupboard wall next to the door caught his eye. A very crude child's drawing.

Harry practically raced down the stairs after Arthur, skidding to a stop as he nearly ran head-first into the open cupboard door.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. Why on earth would any child be drawing on the wall inside of a cupboard? This was no ordinary storage cupboard. Arthur seemed to see his surroundings in a new light. The tiny cot crammed into the space, the broken toys jammed underneath it, tattered books placed tenderly on the storage shelves. Had Harry lived here? Arthur backed out of the cupboard, trying to temper his rage. He slammed the cupboard door, causing Harry to jump.

"Harry," Arthur said slowly, "I am going to ask you a question and I expect an honest answer, do you understand me?" His voice was even and determined. "Did your relatives make you _live_ in this cupboard?"

Harry was tempted to lie, to ask Mr. Weasley what in Merlin's name he was talking about, of course they hadn't made him live in a cupboard!, but he caught sight of the dangerous glint in Mr. Weasley's eye. "Un-until I got my letter," he stammered, staring down at the floor in shame.

"We are leaving. Now," Arthur said in a steely voice, "before I do something I regret. Do you have everything, absolutely _everything_, before we go? Because you are never EVER coming back to this house again." Not if he, Arthur Weasley, had anything to say about it! He wanted nothing more than to go into the sitting room and curse the daylights out of the Dursleys. However, he had Harry to worry about, and his paternal instincts overrode his desire to do Vernon and Petunia Dursley bodily harm. Catching Harry's wide-eyed, terrified nod, Arthur headed directly for the door, Harry on his heels, and out to the borrowed Ministry car he'd driven to Surrey.

Harry wasn't keen on taking a long drive to Ottery St. Catchpole; Vernon's belt had left marks, and a few bruises, on his backside that hadn't faded even after two days and, even with upholstered, cushioned seating, sitting was still highly uncomfortable - particularly since Vernon had reignited the pain with that almighty wallop he'd given Harry when Mr. Weasley arrived at Privet Drive. He tried to get comfortable and not shift around too much, but it was nearly impossible. Fifteen minutes into their drive, Harry was squirming in his seat, trying to find a spot to sit on that didn't hurt. It didn't help that he could sense Mr. Weasley's anger. Despite the man trying to hide it, Harry had spent his entire childhood reading his uncle, for failure to recognize when Vernon Dursley was in a mood could be dangerous.

Arthur had remained relatively quiet, silently observing his young charge from the corner of his eye while he drove. Harry might have been picking up on his anger, but Arthur was picking up on Harry's discomfort. The car was filled with tension, but Arthur didn't trust himself to speak until he'd calmed some. He was a man who brooded quietly, usually, when angry and those that knew him well knew to leave him alone and stay mostly out of sight until he'd calmed. Unfortunately, due to their long drive, Harry didn't have that luxury. Assuming that Harry's squirming and shifting next to him was due to the boy's discomfort with his anger, Arthur forced himself to reign in his anger so he could speak to the boy without scaring him further.

"Harry," Arthur said, breaking the silence after an uncomfortable twenty minutes, "I want you to know I'm not angry with you. I am angry, yes, but at how your relatives have apparently treated you. The locks on your bedroom door, and the catflap?" Arthur shook his head. "And that cupboard? Harry, that is wrong - I am furious at what they have obviously put you through, and that it has been allowed to continue unchecked."

In his seat, Harry fidgeted, gnawing at his lip while Mr. Weasley spoke. Why was he explaining himself to Harry? The boy wasn't quite sure what to say, but Arthur continued.

"That being said, I apologize for frightening you. I should have kept a better hold on my temper when speaking with you."

A look of shock passed Harry's features. Mr. Weasley was _apologizing_ to him? "I-it's okay, Mr. Weasley, really." he said uncomfortably.

"No, it's not," Arthur replied firmly. "Nothing I saw today was 'okay,' and it was most certainly not 'okay' for me to scare you like I did. I saw the fear in your eyes, Harry, and frankly I'm ashamed of myself for putting it there." the man said bluntly. He had seen his children, and even this child, frightened over the prospect of an impending punishment, he'd seen that frozen, scared expression when a child was caught at naughtiness, but never had Arthur seen a look of fear in a child's eyes that _he_, in his anger, had caused, either by action or by speaking to them. It did not sit well with him that he'd seen it in Harry's.

Harry glanced down, staring at his tatty trainers as they tapped against the floorboard. He opened his mouth, to say what, he didn't know, but the car went over a bump and Harry rose in his seat before bouncing back down. The pain the bounce caused in his backside was sharp and sudden. "Ow!" he blurted, hand immediately coming up to cover his mouth after the cry of pain was expelled.

Arthur glanced over to him in concern. "Ow?" he repeated. "Harry, what's wrong?" The young wizard was quick with his reply, a shaky "no-nothing!", too quick. Arthur checked behind him, ensuring there were no cars on his tail, and pulled over onto the curb, parking the car.

"Harry? Why are you in pain?" the boy's squirming made some more sense now and Arthur silently cursed himself for not having noticed the signs sooner. The boy had been trying to get comfortable almost from the moment they'd gotten into the car and left Privet Drive - his constant squirming and shifting, though he tried to be discreet, was clearly a sign of a well-spanked backside, something that Arthur should have recognized from the start.

Harry blushed furiously, his normally pale cheeks turning bright red, and shook his head, not answering Mr. Weasley's question. However, Arthur was having none of that.

"I can see that you're in pain," Arthur commented softly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd been spanked recently. What happened, son?"

There was that word again, the one that set Harry's insides to fluttering and filled his heart with a happy feeling he'd never known before. How could Harry lie to that? "I was," he muttered. "Uncle Vernon walloped me."

"When?" Arthur asked. The slight frown on his face deepened when Harry answered. Yesterday morning? Unless it had been very harsh, Arthur couldn't understand why Harry would still be in this much pain a day and a half later, and he couldn't imagine Harry having behaved _that_ poorly as to deserve such a harsh punishment. "Can you tell me what happened, Harry?"

Picking at his fingernails, the boy gave a reluctant nod. "I got cheeky with Aunt Petunia; she told Uncle Vernon when he got home and he walloped me with his belt."

Disbelief registered on the elder wizard's face. He'd gotten the _belt_ just for being cheeky? Arthur pulled out his wand and scooted to the middle of the connected front seat.

"Harry," he said gently, "I'm going to heal you, but I would ask that you please show me your bottom. I need to ensure that there is no damage a healing spell alone cannot heal. Okay?" Arthur asked, his voice still soft. Arthur wanted to ensure a healing spell alone would take care of the damage. If there was any broken skin, the boy would need to be given a salve to rub on his bottom when they got home. If what he suspected about Harry's home life was true, it would also give him proof of abuse and strengthen his case to remove Harry from that home.

Harry was mortified at the thought of doing what Mr. Weasley said, but he was really sore and he knew the wizard would not hurt him. Face flaming, Harry gave a miserable nod. He made short work of disrobing and bent himself across Arthur's lap.

Arthur couldn't hide his gasp of shock at the state of Harry's backside. The small bottom was myriad of angry red lines; there were purpling bruises (which Arthur suspected were older than just yesterday's belting) and a few upraised welts still visible on Harry's sit-spots, and in the center of the red bottom, an obvious handprint. The lines, very obviously caused by a severe belting, went nearly to Harry's knees. No wonder the boy hadn't been able to sit still! Overpowering even the fury that was bubbling up inside him was an intense, overwhelming sadness that anyone could treat a child, this child!, so horribly. As a father of seven, he could never imagine hurting his children so. Fighting back the tears that were threatening to come up, at the dismay over such treatment, Arthur waved his wand over Harry's bottom and thighs and murmured the healing spell. The bruises and welts disappeared from Harry's bottom, but the skin was still tinged an angry red. Wand-hand shaking, Arthur repeated the spell and gave a satisfied nod as the boy's bottom returned to its original colour. He could practically feel the tension pouring out of the boy as the pain he was feeling finally, finally went away. Arthur used his wand once more to right Harry's clothing and let the boy up. He squeezed Harry's shoulder as the young wizard beamed his thanks at him.

The rest of the drive was much more enjoyable than the first half hour. Harry was much more comfortable and it showed; he chatted with Mr. Weasley about his third year and his excitement over getting to see the Quidditch World Cup. While Arthur smiled in the right places and made conversation with the boy he considered a seventh son, inside his mind was reeling. There was no way he could consciously allow Harry to return to those horrible excuses for human beings. It was obvious to him that no one had made inquiries into the boy's home life and Arthur was struck by a sense of deep regret that he himself had missed the signs. As far as he was concerned, the Dursleys were guilty of both extreme neglect and also abuse and he'd be damned if he let Harry return to that environment. As they turned onto the exit that would take them to the Burrow, Arthur made up his mind. He would see Harry to the Burrow, but after that - he was going to Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore had much to answer for.

When Molly came out to greet them, and after she'd given Harry a crushing hug and tutted over his thin appearance, promising him hoards of food that would surely 'put some meat on those bones!', Arthur pulled her off to the side. He handed her Harry's Shrunken belongings and informed his wife that he would be home in time for supper but that he needed to see the Headmaster of Hogwarts, urgent business that couldn't possibly be put off until later. Hugging his wife, Arthur Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, storming across the grounds and into the castle, not stopping until he reached the gargoyle statue that guarded Dumbledore's office.

"Arthur Weasley here to see the Headmaster on urgent business," he snapped, nodding briskly as the gargoyle leapt to the side. He didn't even wait for the moving staircase to deposit him at Dumbledore's door, but took the stairs two at a time, thrusting the door open.

"Albus Dumbledore, I need a word with you!"

The Headmaster of Hogwarts made his way down the stairs that led into his office from his adjoining quarters. "Arthur, I must say this is a surprise - I wasn't expecting you." If he noticed the man's temper, he failed to address it. "Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore offered as he made his way to his desk and opened the candy jar, selecting one of the yellow sweets for himself.

"I am not here for _sweets_, Albus," Arthur said with a hint of contempt. Did the man think of nothing but his bloody lemon sweets? "I'm here concerning something far more important."

Aged brows creased in a gesture of concern. "Of course," the aged wizard replied easily. "Won't you have a seat? I find it is much easier to discuss difficult matters when one is comfortable." As if illustrating his point, he seated himself in the chair behind his desk.

"Harry Potter," Arthur began, availing himself of a chair. "Albus - I am here to demand removal of Harry from the home of Vernon Dursley. The man is little more than a child-abuser and I cannot abide by Harry staying in that _home_-" he nearly spat the word, for #4 Privet Drive could hardly be considered a home, at least not for the Boy-Who-Lived, "-any longer."

The twinkle so frequently evident in the clear blue eyes of the wizened Headmaster dimmed slightly. "Arthur, Harry must remain with his aunt and uncle."

"He will _not_," Arthur fairly hissed. "Do you know what I saw upon my arrival to pick Harry up today? Locks on the _outside_ of Harry's bedroom door - if, indeed, you can call it his bedroom. The room looked more like a receptacle for junk and broken toys than a bedroom. That's not to mention the _catflap_ on the bottom of the door. Albus, they lock the child in his room! Do you even realize where Harry lived for eleven years of his life? _A boot cupboard under the stairs_, Dumbledore!" Arthur could not stop his voice raising. Disbelief shown on the Headmaster's face; either a lack of belief or a refusal to believe what he was hearing.

"The blood wards around the property are necessary prote-"

"DO NOT speak to me about PROTECTION, Albus Dumbledore!" Arthur shouted. "The wards on that house do absolutely NO GOOD if Harry is being persecuted from INSIDE THEM." Arthur forced himself to stop and take in a deep breath. When he had composed himself, or at least as well as he could given the current situation, he continued. "I will not allow Harry to return to that place, Albus."

"What would you have me do, Arthur?" Albus said with a sigh, sounding as if he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. Arthur was not fooled, nor would he be intimated. "Harry must be protected."

"He will be protected. With me and Molly. I intend to adopt the boy, Albus," Arthur informed the man in a voice that brooked no argument. The Headmaster opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur cut him off, pushing himself out of the chair and leaning over Dumbledore's desk. "Harry WILL be coming to the Burrow - and he WILL NOT return to Number 4 Privet Drive. Molly and I are going to adopt him and Merlin help you if you try to interfere, Albus Dumbledore! I will not be manipulated, and no longer will I allow you to manipulate Harry's life to suit your own means. You may be the 'greatest wizard of our age', Albus, but you have made a grievous mistake in your treatment of this boy," Arthur said in a heavy voice. "Do not stand in my way on this matter. For God's sake, Albus, do something right by Harry for once."

With those words, Arthur turned on his heel and left the Headmaster's office.

He was home in time for supper but, though he enjoyed the meal shared with his wife and children, Arthur remained quiet, lost in his thoughts. After supper, he volunteered to help Molly clean up and sent the children off to amuse themselves (of course, that was something they would have done without his direction) so that he could talk to his wife.

"Molly," Arthur said as she started the charm on the sink and set the dishes to washing, "I told Albus that we are taking Harry. I'm petitioning for adoption tomorrow." He went on to explain what he had discovered upon picking Harry up that morning; by the time he had finished, his wife was in tears, her face buried against his shoulder while he held her tightly. Molly had such a soft heart when it came to children and she had considered Harry one of her own practically since she'd met the boy.

"Thank you, Arthur," Molly said once she had her composure back. "Albus Dumbledore will have hell to pay if he tries to interfere with this."


End file.
